


Cloudburst

by theprettynerdie



Series: Emylina Tabris [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Nipple Play, Romance, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprettynerdie/pseuds/theprettynerdie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a tumblr prompt: "Alistair and Tabris find shelter from a sudden, violent rainstorm. It looks like they're going to be there a while..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloudburst

They are a day and a half’s journey away from Denerim when the sky begins to darken. The party’s cheerful mood all but evaporates as the oncoming storm approaches, and Emylina gives a heavy sigh at the first peal of thunder. She halts, bringing the group to a full stop with a wave of her hand.

“Let’s set up the tents quickly, before the rain comes,” she says, already setting her pack down and rifling through it to retrieve the poles for hers. “With any luck, the shower will pass swiftly.”

But there is no such luck to be had; the cloudburst that comes less than a minute later soaks everyone to their skin before they can finish propping up their tents. Drenched, Emylina ducks inside the moment the canvas is taut and sturdy, and begins tearing off her armor at once.

“Slow down there,” Alistair says as he follows her inside, a smile on his face. “Let me.”

Emylina’s expression softens as he approaches and starts working at the first buckle of her breastplate. Her hands reach up to his hair, petting lovingly as he pulls her armor away, piece by piece.

Life on the road affords the two lovers few opportunities to properly express their affection for one another. Alistair takes advantage of every one of those opportunities; by now, his removal of her armor is a matter of routine. On most days, he takes his time, kissing each new inch of bared flesh as he works. Today, however, they are both soaking wet, and urgency is required more than tenderness. 

For Emylina, it is sweet all the same. She’s never had another person dote on her the way Alistair does; since marriages were always arranged in the alienage, relationships there were based on circumstance and necessity to begin with, not affection.

She starts to help Alistair out of his own armor as he moves on to remove her fauld; together, they manage to extricate themselves from their many pieces of heavy plate, which they then set to work drying meticulously. Neither of them talk, save for a muttered thank you when a cloth or the jar of polishing wax is passed between them; instead, they focus on their task in comfortable silence.

Only after an hour passes, and Emylina is polishing her last bit of armor, does Alistair speak. 

“If we are to be delayed,” he says slowly, in a tone that suggests he’s planning something, “might we crack open this wine a little early?”

She chuckles as she wrings the water out of her damp hair. “And where did you get _that?”_ she asks, eyeing the unfamiliar red bottle in his hand. 

“Might have neglected to mention buying this in the last town,” he replies. “I was going to wait until we got to Denerim, but I think we could use a little pick-me-up, wouldn’t you say?”

“And what of our companions? I fear if you uncork it there shall be none left for them by the time the sun returns.” 

“They’ll have to find their own pick-me-up,” Alistair says, opening the bottle. “I got this just for us.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, turning away before he can see the blush on her cheeks. “I thought – Never mind.”

“What, you thought I’d spend as many silvers as I did for this wine for just _anybody_?”

“No, it’s … it took me by surprise." 

“That I’d want to do something special for you for no reason?”

“…”

“It’s not too much is it?” Now it’s his turn to falter, to blush. “It doesn’t have to be a special, romantic-type thing if it is, we can just drink it because we want to get drunk or pass the time, or – ”

Emylina silences him with a finger pressed to his lips. “It’s … really nice.” Her arms wrap around his waist. “And what if I _do_ want it to be a romantic-type thing?”

Alistair’s face breaks into a grin. “That can be arranged,” he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

They spread out their bedrolls side by side, settling with her leaning against him, back pressed to his chest. As the rain beats heavily against the canvas of the tent around them, they pass the wine back and forth between them; Emylina babbles about something or other, her heart beating so rapidly she’s sure Alistair can hear it, feeling on edge thanks to a mixture of nerves and sheer anticipation. When she twists around to look at his face, he’s grinning broadly, his eyes fond.

“What did she say when she heard that?”

“What?”

Alistair furrows his brow. “You were talking about when your cousin – oh never mind,” he says, recognizing that the story she’d been in the middle of has already gone out of her head completely. “You’re drifting again.”

“Yes,” she says, leaning her cheek against his palm when he raises his hand to cup the side of her face. “I’m sorry.”

“You lost your train of thought when you looked at me. Why would you be sorry for that?” He leans down so he can kiss the side of her neck. “It’s pretty flattering.”

"Well, don't let it go to your head." Emylina feels his smile against her skin when she lets out a breathy moan. “Enough … wine for now,” she tells him. He sets the bottle aside at once, eager to get his hands on her. 

He elicits another moan from her when his mouth returns to the side of her neck so he can run his tongue along the length of it, all the way to her jawline. He dips her head to the side, cradling it with both arms wrapped firmly around her. Then he’s holding her upright so she can lean back against his chest and bring her hand immediately to his hair. His mouth goes to the base of her neck next, sucking briskly until he’s certain there’s going to be a mark there. She loves when he leaves these reminders of their many unions on her skin, so he repeats the process again and again until there’s a trail of love marks certain to stay visible for days. 

He has her lean her head against his shoulder as his hands slide down to cup the swell of her breasts, thumbs tilted upward to tease at her nipples through her breastband. Emylina makes a happy little noise and tilts her face up, barely able to reach the underside of Alistair’s jaw with her kisses.

“Shall I take this off?” he whispers. He chuckles at the anticipatory groan he gets out of her and unlaces the material.

A cry sticks in her throat at the first press of his hands on her naked breasts. Alistair squeezes, massages gently, until she bucks forward slightly, a silent plea for more. All too happy to oblige her, his fingers brush around the circumference of the taut pink buds, teasing as his mouth returns to her neck and sucks yet another mark onto her flesh at the junction between neck and shoulder. _That_ gets a real reaction out of her; Emylina whines and immediately starts to squirm fretfully in his arms.

Her backside brushes up and down his erection roughly with her movements; Alistair needs to still her with two hands on her hips. She whines again when he removes his hands from her breasts; desperate for him now perhaps more than ever before in her life, she rasps out a plea. 

“I _want_ you.”  

“And I, you,” Alistair tells her, returning one hand to her breast to pinch at the skin just next to the sensitive bud. “Let me take care of you.”

A third whine, louder than the two before it, echoes in his ears at his words, only to dissolve into whimpers as his other hand delves lower, beneath her smallclothes and along the dripping-wet folds he finds there.

Emylina thrusts her body forward, eager for his fingers, but Alistair holds her against him, preventing her from taking any more than he’s willing to give at a time. “Patience,” he whispers, gliding the tip of a finger along the outer lips of her cunt, maddeningly slow. “You’re so wet, Em. _Maker_ …”

“I need you,” she murmurs again, then again, then again. Alistair groans, his cock straining inside his pants, and he slips a finger inside her. She keens, her hips rocking forward of their own accord as she clenches around the digit he’s working into her, while his other hand moves from one breast to the other, rubbing the stiffened peaks with unfaltering vigor.

By the time his finger is all the way inside her, her nipples are sore and oversensitive from his attentions. He doesn’t stop touching her, though, just alternates between teasing and massaging to keep her going. Despite her arousal, she’s still tight as can be, so Alistair starts probing, twisting the finger slightly so she’ll loosen sufficiently for him. From the way she’s quavering in his arms, it’s clear enough that Emylina wants, _needs,_ more. So he gathers slick from the heat of her on his thumbs and cants it upward to glide it over her hooded pearl.

Emylina _wails._

“ _Oh_ ,” she cries, “Oh, oh!” 

The finger inside her continues to delve deep as his thumb works at her clenching, swelling nub, while his other hand keeps working at her breasts. Her splayed legs spread open further, urging, as she shudders, too breathless to ask for the impending release she seeks.

But Alistair can feel how close she is, doesn’t need her words to tell him that. He presses deep, his thumb now relentless against her, and leans his mouth down to catch the tip of her pointed ear between his teeth.

The scream that tears from her throat is reedy and desperate beyond anything Alistair’s ever heard come from her before. His tongue darts forth to lick along the shell of the ear, and that’s what sends her over the edge.

Emylina convulses, her pussy clinching like a vice as her inner walls shudder with her climax. He works her through it, fingers pressing and mouth sucking, until she goes limp. He draws his fingers out of her smallclothes and pulls them down, then off completely. His mouth moves immediately to kiss an inch of flesh behind her ear, and she sighs.

“Alistair …”

She twists around to haul him in for a proper kiss, and he meets those lips eagerly; he’s so _ready_ to be inside her, but she’s only taken one of his fingers thus far.

“Lie on your back,” he instructs. Emylina obeys at once, eager to have him properly. She moans unhappily when she realizes he isn’t planning on having her just yet, even reaches out to palm his erection. Alistair shivers at her touch, and when his eyes snap up to her face, she licks her lips.

“Please,” she asks. She doesn’t want any more of this teasing, can’t _take_ any more of it. He shakes his head, settling on his stomach and parting her thighs to expose the swollen pink of her folds. Taking an ankle in each hand, he lifts her legs up and apart further before resting them on his shoulders.

When he presses a finger back inside, she takes it easily, but she’s sobbing in distress. _Not enough, not enough, not enough._

“I need _more_ ,” she mewls, “Alistair, I need more of you, please!”

He shakes his head, using his free hand to cup her ass and tilt her lower body forward and toward him. “You’re still too tight, Em. Just hold on.”

Emylina whines in disappointment, her chest heaving. When the second finger enters her, she throws her head to the side, struggling to relax even as she feels herself coming apart at the seams. Her hands clutch at his hair as the fingers inside her begin scissoring, stretching her in preparation for his cock. The sensation has her cooing with delight, and that makes Alistair answer her in turn with an appreciative grunt.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. He removes the hand from her ass, lets her fall back to the bedroll as he quirks the two digits he’s using to open her up for him. Before the cry of pleasure has left Emylina’s throat, Alistair has the tips of his index and middle fingers of his now-free hand rolling her clit in small, circular motions.

“Beautiful,” Alistair breathes, watching her writhe and pressing a third finger into her body to join the first two. The elf beneath him is impossibly wet, positively soaking his fingers with slick as he seeks out the familiar spot within that he’s looking for. When he finds it and presses all three fingers against it, Emylina trembles from head to foot and nearly tears the hair from his scalp as she howls mirthfully.

_“Maker, yes! There!”_

Hands work in concert, steadily building her pleasure. Alistair wants to watch her fall apart all over again, needs to see this woman, his _love_ , come for him.

So he leans down and licks at the outer folds of her tumid cunt, just as he quirks his fingers to rub that place within her, and increases the pace of the ones stroking at her clit.

For the second time that evening, a piercing scream bursts from Emylina’s panting mouth as her orgasm overtakes her. She rides out the waves with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears forming at the corners from the sheer bliss of it all. She doesn’t open them when the aftershocks cease, nor when Alistair slips his fingers out of her.

The hungry kiss, therefore, is a surprise. Emylina opens her mouth to his at once and sighs happily when he licks his way inside, hands cupping the sides of her face.

“Please,” she murmurs, feeling punch-drunk and still _so needful_. “Alistair, please, take me.”

He nods, kisses her slowly, tenderly, as he tugs down his smallclothes. His erection is weeping, hard and straining against his stomach, and he takes himself in hand.

“Is – ” His voice nearly breaks, he’s so overwhelmingly hard. “Is this what you want?”

“Maker, _yes!”_ she replies at once, wrapping her arms around his middle and trying to pull him against her. “Oh, _please_ , my love, _please_!”

Alistair leans down, angling his cock against her so it brushes against her reddened clit. He rubs her there several torturously slow times before he finally, _finally_ , sinks into the welcoming heat of her body.

Nails are raking down his back as he wriggles his hips, working himself gradually into her until he’s hilt-deep, filling her completely and pressed hip to hip. He stays there, trying to catch his breath as the velvet of her insides flutter all around him; it takes all the strength he has not to come right then and there, she feels so good.

He opens the eyes he hasn’t realized he’s closed at the sound of Emylina’s rough, muttered pleas. “Wrap your legs around my thighs,” he tells her, and she complies without a moment’s hesitation.

Instead of thrusting, Alistair rocks himself forward; the base of his cock rubs against her clit as he does so, and the feeling is so unexpected and so _good_ that the moisture in Emylina’s eyes escapes and trickles down her cheeks as she gasps. He repeats the motion, which earns him another plaintive outcry, and by the third time she’s rocking against _him_ , meeting his movements with her own.

It feels incredible, impossibly so; Alistair claims her gasping mouth once more as the two of them clutch each other as close as they can manage, sweat-slick skin sliding together with the shifting of their trembling bodies. Neither of them is going to last much longer, not like this.

“Close,” she manages out. “So close – ”

Alistair gives a single, rough thrust, driving his hip harshly against her, and Emylina unravels as the sweet fire of her third climax sends her lithe body thrashing this way and that. Her eyes are open and on him as the pleasure of it ripples through her, and he leans his forward against hers while she comes back to herself. Only then does he let a low growl tear from his throat and surge forward; Emylina cries out softly as he thrusts fiercely in and out of the tight, wet heat of her, desperation threatening to overwhelm him.

He muffles his shout in the curve of her neck, spilling helplessly as Emylina pets at the back of his neck and deliberately clenches her cunt, milking him further and further until he’s spent. 

They lay there, hands stroking and mouths licking and sucking, still joined. “I love you,” Emylina tells him, feeling dazed and content.

Alistair’s eyes are warm and a little unfocused. “I love you too,” he says, kissing her mouth firmly and pulling out of her.

They roll back onto their sides, hands stroking idly and lips kissing. “It’s still raining,” he notes.

“Yes,” Emylina says, now resigned to the fact that they will not be able to move on to Denerim until the morning, at least.

“We still have most of that wine." 

“We do,” Emylina smiles. “Maybe after another drink you’ll indulge me with … a repeat performance?”

Alistair only falters for a few moments. Then he’s grinning again.

“Of course, my lady,” he replies. “As you wish.”

 

 


End file.
